Unforgotten Lusts
by midnightisolde
Summary: A snapshot of Alucard's feedings from the past. Alucard reflects on one of the many nights in which he stalked and fed upon a victim, in this case a nameless female victim. Being the Dracula we all know and love, we know his predilection for young virgins, and so Alucard feels longing and anger at his inability to indulge in his preferences while under Hellsing control. Oneshot.


**Author Note:**

A snapshot into one of Alucard's many feedings from the past. Alucard reflects on one of the many nights in which he stalked and fed upon a victim, in this case a young woman in the early eighteenth century. Being the Dracula we all know and love, we know his predilection for young virgins, and so Alucard feels a mixture of longing and anger at his inability to indulge in his preferred feeding habits as much as he would prefer.

 **Unforgotten lusts**

Sometimes, when lying alone in the blackness of the basement wherein he was confined, Alucard would remember. Memories of the past would come blurred as if from a dream; the long centuries confounded his ability to remember.

Sometimes, the ghost of a memory would reach out to him and he would wonder if were real or a reverie; perhaps even a manifestation of mental deterioration, of which the tedium of the Hellsing basement did little to improve when he were not on a mission.

To be alone in the darkness was not a punishment, for he loved the shade and the shadow, and would be alone with his thoughts when he may…

Ah, but to be free in the night! In the cool night time air, with the blackness of the Heavens and the wan and silvery full moon for company, was what he longed for. When on a mission for Hellsing, he could roam the night, but not upon his own whim. That little taste of the night he longed for was a pleasure and a pain. The only thing which gave him joy was to be one with the black hours of night, and he longed to hunt and to feed upon the human blood he craved.

His red eyes glanced over with something like contempt at the wine glass of blood – cold; old; sanitised; dull medical blood. It had no comparison with the warmth of fresh blood from a living human. His senses twitched for a moment at such thoughts. He ran his tongue over his fangs. A hazy feeling of heat rose in him at the thought of stalking a victim, especially an innocent female victim; of luring her out into the night to be with him. And she would regard him with fearful eyes but also would soon melt into submission; unable to resist.

No blood was too much for him of course, but he did have a predilection for young women. There was something about virgin blood. It amused him how easily women would bend under his presence, even without effort on his part, and would offer themselves willingly to their own ruin.

His bloodlust ached. How he wished that he could go now, out into the black night of his own free will, to stalk an innocent human girl and bask in the pleasure of draining her life. The only thing which pleased him was the night and the pleasure of killing. It was the only thing he lived for…

Such things were but a memory. And so hazy memories of his victims were all he had. There were countless, and few were particularly special to him; he regarded the intimacy and seduction casually as a means to an end and meant little to him. The feelings of a human, romantic and idealistic at heart, hoped for the intimacy to be something more –that he loved; that he cared; that he did not only want to kill – but this was laughable to him. So many, it seemed, longed to be that 'special one' who the vampire would love. But truly, he had no interest in such human concepts – perhaps could not feel love in his dead heart anymore. He only desired to possess and devour.

The truth of this was too much to bear for any who found themselves hopelessly attached to him. The thought of being nothing more than his next meal; nothing more cared for than a human might think of cattle, was too horrific to face.

A memory danced from the centuries into his vision. It was a typical occurrence – the girl insignificant but her blood most appealing. So many times the same story, yet still so intoxicating were the feelings of feeding on a virgin that he never tired of it and he longed for it badly. He was gripping the arms of the ancient throne hard with rigid fingers. His red eyes glowed infernal heat and closed to savour the memory of the bloody indulgences he craved.

She was small and delicate in every way – will and body. He took her as his and drank his fill until she was dead. Yes, he remembered that wispy blonde hair and pleading grey eyes as if it were yesterday. Memory reeling, he cast his mind back a few centuries to that time; that place; that insignificant girl, but one of the many he had ensnared and feasted upon, and remembered. Her soul his, he saw that night through her memory too.

…

She snuggled into the bedclothes. It was a warm night and she could not be more comfortable than as she was at present. Resting her head on the pillow, her long blond hair fanned out over the soft bedding like a halo; she smiled to herself in contentment and excitement. She was now engaged to be married and thoughts of her new life buzzed through her mind. She had difficulty sleeping in such a state of happiness and it was now quite late. The sky was a pitch black.

She blew out her candle and the room was doused entirely in shadow and dimness, save for the silver of the moon which glistened dully through the curtains.

…

Silence and stillness; she slept soundly…

Distantly a _tap, tap_ upon glass – perhaps she dreamed…

Yet then, a shrill scrapping like nails upon a chalk board. She woke and cringed. The window handle ratcheted violently up and down, and she froze in fear for this was the third storey and it was not possible for anyone to access. She shrunk beneath the covers in a ball. It was cold now.

Clattering, the window swept open and she gasped in fright; not daring a look. But the wind gusted and blew the curtains wide and, after some minutes, she mustered up the courage to edge toward the window. Shivering in her white nightgown and feeling the beat of her heart, she touched the windowsill and dared herself to gaze outside.

Nothing except the black night. She sighed in relief before closing the windows and the shutters, and pulling the curtains together again. _How silly she had been, perhaps in the excitement she had the fanciful inclinations as found in works of Gothic Romance._ She wrapped her arms about herself, having now the chill of the night air upon her.

As she turned however, she almost screamed.

A tall black figure, masculine in appearance stood before her, but the fact it was male was not what frightened her –that was only her initial reaction. He had a very pale countenance and exuded a feeling of cold dread; something quite inhuman and not among the living. Before she could think her sight was caught in the intense gaze of red eyes which glowed with hypnotic air. She was not in control of her own body and yet did not wish to resist, but rather acquiesce to his will.

''Will you invite me?'' the creature asked, and its voice was a deep masculine and seductive, as were his features, though ash-white and red-eyed.

''Yes'' she replied languidly. She had in her a grave feeling of helplessness and terrible fear as he approached her. Yet, the vampire was strangely attractive – its blazing glaze too mesmerising to break and she felt an increasing sense of his dark allure. She knew that he was not living, but dead. Yet she felt a profound desire to be enveloped in his cold embrace; hear the rich sound of his deep voice close against the tender flesh of her exposed neck; to feel the rush of oblivion as she was bitten by his monstrous mouth…

Dracula was not one to refuse the will of a lady. His ashen spidery hands closed around her – their cold, lifelessness made her gasp in paralysis as he took her.

….

Darkness paling into early morn, his gaze turned from the window to the girl whose body he held and leaned over it. Her long blonde hair tumbled and fell, and she gazed tearfully up at him; her eyes confused and questioning. Her neck was smothered in blood and the white of her nightdress was spotted with red.

He understood from her memories she had been engaged to be married, but that happy ending would no longer be coming true, he reflected apathetically. She made a feeble gasping sound which he hushed and drowned with a kiss; sharing the taste of her own blood with her. She coughed in disgust. He tasted the wet salt of tears too – she knew she was dying.

The Count was not particularly sorry. He sighed and lowered to her neck again to feed, and she gave a cry at the forcefulness of his bite. Her life fleeting and drifting; she died and he had her soul.

He arranged the body to look peaceful and left. Monstrous though he was, he had a respect for the dead. He had no idea if she would turn, for he had not willed it tonight. Fortune would decide her fate. No matter, he had little inclination, or care, to observe the result.

Returning to his resting place, he settled inside his coffin and fell into the sleep of the dead. Living dead he was, and new vitality of fresh blood bloomed upon his corpse. He rested with the satisfaction of the girls' blood still lingering.

…

Alucard savoured such memories for he had many. He replayed the scene again in his mind; endlessly draining the girl, and others like her, over and over again. He never quite tired of it, probably because he could not do such things anymore. Master Integra would not allow it. The will of _Abraham van Helsing_ would not allow it.

He tasted the faded memory of the girl's blood and involuntary licked his lips. It reminded him how terribly arid and thirsty he felt.

 **End Note:**

From the reviews so far, I would like to point out some of the ideas I was playing with here. This is a Hellsing based fanfiction, but I wanted to match it up with the novel using the premise Hellsing offers. For Alucard's character, I'm running from the exchange with Jonathan Harker in the beginning as a basis for his persona - ''I love the shade and the shadow, and would be alone with my thoughts when I may'' and "Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!" Seeing, I suppose, some expression in my face strange to him, he added, "Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter." That to me sums up Dracula in one.

I wrote this up on a spur of the moment. I'd originally had the encounter with girl part as the only piece, but then I decided to make it a Hellsing fic, so added in Alucard's sort-of nostalgia and longing for a similar occurrence in the present. Alucard is not changed, he is still the same under the surface, as we see in Rio and also I think his killing of Rip van Winkle too, as it has a sadistic; twisted sexuality. 

I think the arranging the dead girl after he's killed her seems like something he might do. It also gives a bit of a tender moment to show that he isn't a complete monster. I figure that, as he is dead, he would have more concern/care for the dead than the living. It's only fleeting, because he is not interested in this girl enough to linger; he doesn't care if she becomes undead - he doesn't even remember her name (I never mention it). But there's just a brief moment of thoughtfulness in him there. There's also something I read in 'Dracula: prince of many faces' about Vlad III Dracula that, though he had people killed in horrific ways, he was still concerned that their bodies be respected after death, with proper burial etc. So I wanted to incorporate that into his personality here.


End file.
